


Better Use

by bandedbulbussnarfblat



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Jaskier is thirsty, M/M, so thirsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:21:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22457893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bandedbulbussnarfblat/pseuds/bandedbulbussnarfblat
Summary: 5 times Geralt rejects Jaskier, and one time he doesn't
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 9
Kudos: 275





	Better Use

**Author's Note:**

> This fic isn't crack, but it is crack adjacent.

“Do you like men?”

The question slips out without grace, too eager and curious one day while they're sitting around the camp fire. Geralt is methodically sharpening his sword and he doesn't even glance up at Jaskier's question. “...Geralt?”

“No,” he says, but it sounds like the answer to another question, the one Jaskier was really trying to ask.

“No you don't like men, or no you don't like me?”

Geralt's face twists into the all too common frown that says Jaskier is getting on his nerves. Jaskier has learned to read his wide variety of scowls, to decipher the meanings of his grunts. This look says leave him alone.

“Never mind.”

///

The monster—Jaskier can't remember the name, he'll have to get from Geralt later—really did a number on Geralt. The injuries aren't bad; only bruises and cuts, but the sheer number and size of them is alarming. Jaskier notices them when Geralt gets out of the bath (not that he was looking.) Geralt stands and all down his broad back in one enormous bruise, spreading from mid back to his ass, half his left butt cheek an ugly purple.

It should be a crime really, to damage such a lovely bottom, Jaskier thinks.

He convinces Geralt to let him rub some chamomile oil on him to soothe the pain. This isn't anything new, Jaskier has gotten quite good at patching up Geralt, especially in the places Geralt can't reach. Geralt sometimes even says thank you after. So Jaskier isn't thinking of anything perverse when he rubs chamomile onto Geralt's bottom, the bruise stretches to there so he might as well be thorough. It's only once he's begun that he realizes he is _rubbing Geralt's ass_ , and perhaps that is not the most heterosexual thing in the world.

Geralt, for the most part, is quiet. He's spread out on the bed, chin resting on his hands, so still Jaskier thinks he may be drifting off to sleep. Jaskier kneads his ass a little more than is strictly necessary. It isn't quite the way he imagined getting his hands on Geralt's bottom, but he'll be damned if he doesn't enjoy the opportunity at least a little. Geralt hasn't told him to stop, and it emboldens Jaskier. He lets his hand slip down a little past the bruise. “You know, while I'm back here-”

“No,” Geralt rumbles in his deep voice, more alert than a half asleep man has any right to be.

Jaskier lets the matter drop and moves on to cleaning Geralts cuts.

///

Jaskier is in his cups, the room swaying around him dangerously. Geralt has killed the monster and the townspeople are feeling celebratory, and generous with their coin. They have coin enough for two rooms and meals and even baths. And ale, of course. Plenty of ale.

Geralt is nursing his own mug of ale when Jaskier spots him and lurches toward him. The patrons of the tavern are still singing 'Toss a Coin to Your Witcher' and his pocket is lined with coin, his stomach full of food and ale. He feels good, better than he has in a long time.

He stumbles toward Geralt and attempts to slide into the seat next to him, but ends up half on his lap. It's not his fault there's two of everything, and none of it will stay still. He loops a friendly arm around Geralt's neck. Geralt seems more amused than irritated, probably due to the copious amounts ale he also consumed. It doesn't matter; Geralt makes a surprisingly comfy chair. Jaskier thinks he tells him as much out loud, because Geralt's mouth twitches in that way that means he wants to smile, but won't, because he's an oh-so-stoic monster hunter.

“Let's get you into bed,” Geralt says.

“About time. Been trying to get into your bed for ages now, Witcher.”

Geralt sighs and hefts him up and to his feet. Jaskier hangs onto him as his legs seem to have stopped working properly. “Your bed, Jaskier.”

“Not picky about where,” Jaskier slurs. “We can do it right here if you want. Just need a minute to get my legs back.”

Geralt ends up having to heave him over his shoulder and carry him up the stairs to his room. By the time he deposits Jaskier into his bed, Jaskier is already snoring.

///

“Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?” They're huddled together in one bedroll for warmth, Jaskier shivering in the cold. They had to shift snow out of the way to lay down the bedroll and the chill from the damp ground bleeds through. Jaskier is pressing into Geralt shamelessly seeking his warmth. He wasn't thinking anything lustful at all until he felt something hard pressed against his backside.

“It's a knife.”

Well then, that's that. But Jaskier has never been one to give up when he wanted something. “You know, there are ways to warm up besides sharing a bedroll.”

“Do you want to sleep alone in the cold?”

“Alright, shutting up now.”

///

“I'm just saying why waste money on a brothel when you have a willing companion?”

“I can pay the whore to shut up.”

Jaskier bumps his shoulder against Geralt's as they walk. “I can't talk with my mouth full.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier shifts his gaze over to Geralt. “Is that a 'yes Jaskier, let me ravish you' hmm?”

“No.”

Jaskier sighs. “Very well, your loss.”

///

“You know, I didn't thank you for saving my life.”

“Yennefer saved your life.”

“And you thanked her for it well.”

Geralt pauses and looks at Jaskier. “You saw that?”

Jaskier ignores the question. “You were worried about me. You care. Admit it.”

“Hmm.”

There's something acquiescing in Geralt's tone that warms Jaskier inside. “You didn't deny it. Say it. Say we're friends.”

“No.”

Jaskier moves in front of Geralt. “You like me.”

Geralt says nothing.

“Your lack of denial says more than words.”

Geralt grunts. “How do I get you to stop saying words?”

“You could put my mouth to better use,” Jaskier says flippantly, used now to this one sided flirtation. It's become something of a game, he thinks.

“Alright.”

Jaskier nearly chokes. “I-what-did you-”

Geralt raises an eyebrow.

“Why now?” Jaskier splutters.

“You almost died,” Geralt says easily.

That's good enough for Jaskier.


End file.
